


Like A Violin

by raeyoumi



Category: Given (Anime), Given (Manga)
Genre: Angst, Canon Rewrite, M/M, Manga & Anime, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29634651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raeyoumi/pseuds/raeyoumi
Summary: Ugetsu never thought there would come a day when he would have to say good bye to the boy he had ever fallen in love with. To say he was sad was an understatement, and he couldn't help but think of all the memories they spent together, what could have happened--before he plays the final note of their sorrowful sonata.
Relationships: Kaji Akihiko & Murata Ugetsu, Kaji Akihiko/Murata Ugetsu
Kudos: 6





	Like A Violin

“Ugetsu—"

“You..” Ugetsu’s breath ghosted over Akihiko, a subtle gush but enough to send shivers through his skin. He looked up at the man hovered over him, the grip on his wrist tightening every second. He was breaking—no, _they_ were breaking. Fingers latched around his skin as if he was trying to keep unmatched pieces of a broken porcelain vase together. “Why…?”

The change of tone made Akihiko look into his eyes—and what he saw tore him to a thousand more pieces, “Why are you abandoning the _violin_?” he uttered.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  
• • •

  
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  
It was the Spring of their third year when their love grew a bud that eventually blossomed as time passed. Akihiko was Ugetsu’s first friend, the first person who actually stopped and looked at him with piercing eyes. A look not full of adoration nor spite, but a look of curiosity—genuine curiosity. Akihiko looked at him as if he could see past his upbringing, through the prodigious facade. It was frightening, but the fright left him intrigued.

As for Akihiko, Ugetsu was someone he was envious of—or at least that’s what he had himself believe. The boy was a mystery, he always looked as if he was lost in a black void darker than his empty eyes. At the same time, he felt as if Ugetsu felt more emotions than most people, and that those emotions were too overwhelming; it may swallow him completely one day.

It was a given that the young violinist was much better than him, much better than anyone else, and yet why do his eyes reflect not even a single flicker of triumph? Why did Ugetsu look as if he was void of emotions in front of others? As soon as Akihiko realized this, listening to the tune of Ugetsu’s violin in an empty classroom, he wanted nothing else than to soothe him. To take him far away, far from his self-inflicted pain.

He should have known it that time, that a ‘love’ like that would cease to last.   
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  
Still, _Akihiko loved him_.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  
High School and his parents’ divorce hurt a little less whenever Ugetsu was around. Living with him, despite being a freeloader, was the most fun he had his whole life. Their quiet slumber during the afternoon, wrapped in each other’s arms until one of them would wake up—just to spend a few more minutes admiring the flutter of the other’s eyelashes, or the subtle breathing and sleepy mutters. The chuckle that subconsciously escapes one’s lips when they realize the other was staring at them, the ‘good morning’ from their groggy voice. 

Ugetsu was his comfort, the only person who made him feel at home. He pieced him together just perfectly as if Akihiko was just as important as his favorite violin, his favorite repertoire. 

Ugetsu, on the other hand, had put his walls down for Akihiko. Rather, he really had no choice but to. The boy could see right through him, yet he had no intention of forcing him to speak nor show any emotion about it. Akihiko was patient, and Ugetsu was more than thankful for that. The more they stayed together as lovers, the more he realized just how much of a good man he is.

When Ugetsu broke the mug—when Akihiko’s finger brushed his bangs away to give him that smile he loved so much... it was then he realized that he was nothing like him. He was nothing like what Akihiko thinks of him. He was just… there. Ugetsu always thought he was bad, useless even—and compared to Akihiko… he was nothing. 

That’s when everything began to shatter. When they graduated, the more Ugetsu noticed he was tainting Akihiko. The more he became passionate about music, the more Akihiko lost his light. Perhaps it had always been like that, all he ever did was break Akihiko, he was just in denial.  
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  
“ **I love the violin**.”  
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  
But still, Ugetsu loved Akihiko with all his heart. He adored him, he wanted to protect him at all cost. He was… his everything. Yet all he ever did was steal Akihiko’s colors. Ugetsu was painted in different hues, each stroke of Akihiko’s fingers like the stroke of a paintbrush; he was the art piece, and the other served as his palette. He stole his hues.   
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  
“Playing the drums is fun…”

Ugetsu knew that for a long time now, so why does it hurt so much?

“... but everything I poured into playing the violin isn’t a lie.”  
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  
This was what he intended to happen, right? Sleeping with those other men, having Akihiko around just to make him feel like he was being used. Inflicting all those pain to him to have him finally let go of Ugetsu. He wanted him to let go, didn’t he?

If so, why is it just now that he badly wanted to pull Akihiko to him and never let go?

“So… you really are breaking up with me.”

“Yeah.”

Karma, perhaps. Akihiko was his violin, and yet he played him too rapidly. His very own fingers calloused and bled with each rampant stroke of his bow, having the strings snap and break over and over again. This was his karma for continuously playing détaché for his Concierto, ending their piece with an abrupt martelé.

“I get it already, so can you please let go of my hand?”  
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  
 _Please, don't let go_.  
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ  
Ugetsu stayed in silence as he waited for the footsteps to fade, the momentary tight grip lingered over his hand like a scar left by his bow. That was their _final quartet_ , an unfinished sonata that he may never hear of again.

That night, that spring, was the coldest night he spent. And for sure, he’ll be drinking his coffee cold in that empty room he once called 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦.


End file.
